"Owls are not what they seem"

BITTER

You hit me
with news that squeak
like rats. Escaping.
I eye each one of them,
fighting the instinct of an inner cat
inside me.
I can’t.
I just can’t chase
every word you throw at me –
there’s too many of them
for one little me.

I’ve been given a choice
that wasn’t one after all,
so I escape too –
like the colour from a rosebud.
I know I have to leave
and drain all presence of me
into the river that’s
you –
been poisoned with other colours already,
and no matter how vivid they once were,
they are dirty brown
now.

For some reason, the first part really stood out to me. I love the whole thing but the words being rats and you the cat, trying to stop the nature of the chase before getting overwhelmed. I’ve felt that. Really really cool. 😀